


Twice

by Ballyharnon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballyharnon/pseuds/Ballyharnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus is on a reconnaissance mission for the Order--in the past. He is recognised by the cleverest boy in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twice

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for a prompt at hp_kinkmemes on Livejournal, in 2011.
> 
> Warning: Time travel, therefore age difference. The prompt specified that Sirius be 18.

The door opened, and when Remus recognised the group of boys who entered, he nearly apparated away without another thought, but he had been sent here, now, for a specific purpose and he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He brought his newspaper up to try to hide his face and continued his eavesdropping on the mysterious dark wizards at the next table as well as he could.

After some minutes, he stole a glance at the boys. Remus remembered this night; it was their last butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, for tomorrow was the leaving feast and then they would go into the world, into the war. An ungovernable part of him wanted to simply walk to their table and curse the little one into an early grave and hang the time-space continuum, and some unnecessarily analytical part of him wondered, as he always did when Albus sent him on missions like this, if maybe that wasn't the idea, really.

Three of the lads ignored him so completely that it was easy to pretend that it wasn't James sitting over there laughing and joking on his too-quick march to death, that it wasn't the only enemy who had ever outwitted them all just now bringing butterbeers to the table, that it wasn't his own younger self looking pale and wan but happy among his dear friends.

The fourth member of their group, though, was staring across the pub at him, and Remus knew without a doubt that that beautiful, impossibly-young, torturously happy, wickedly-smiling boy had recognised him at first glance, and he felt a stupid old fool, that he'd honestly expected the cleverest boy in the whole damned world not to recognise his own lover. Even with twenty-odd years of lines and greys and life's lessons in-between them, it was simply laughable to think that Padfoot wouldn't know Moony.

Remus ducked again behind his newspaper and tried as hard as he could to ignore them. Would Sirius remember this? Would he already have remembered it? Would the bastard have said anything about it before he had so discourteously fallen right out of the world, even if he had remembered?

Years of reconnaissance work as a time-traveller had given Remus not just a healthier-than-average dose of grey hair, but also an entirely twisted perspective on death, and on memory.

The barmaid brought him another ale and looked perplexed when a greying stranger told her, "Cheers, Rosie," as familiarly as a regular would have done. She took away his empty glass and Remus stole another glance at the dark-haired boy from behind the cover of her wide bustle as she walked away. He was still staring, intensely, as though he hadn't taken his eyes off Remus once. He looked hastily down into his ale.

He was vaguely aware that the wizards he was meant to be spying on had left and he had no idea when they had made their exit, but he hadn't time to formulate a plan before the boys were standing and making their way to the door. For a brief moment he thought he'd escaped the awkward situation, but Sirius was saying, "Go on, I'm right behind you," and turning towards him as the other boys left, unconcerned.

Remus shut his eyes and pretended none of this was happening.

He felt the weight of a familiar (lithe, young) body settle next to him on the cushioned bench, and he opened his eyes to find Sirius a handsbreadth from his face, smiling enchantedly. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius cut him off. 

"You look exactly like I always thought you would one day," he was murmuring, so intimate and close that Remus suddenly feared the other patrons of the public house would see this for exactly what it was, a suspicious-looking middle-aged man and a fey and pretty Hogwarts student sitting far too close together. He slid away a little, though he set his hand on the boy's thigh under the table for he couldn't stand the thought of Sirius--of _this_ Sirius--with a rejected moue on his sweet face.

He couldn't think of anything to say; there was no use denying his identity, not now that he'd already got his fingers round that flesh, for no nonchalant stranger would have done that. He just clutched almost convulsively at that whipcord thigh and waited for Sirius to speak again.

"What's--? What are you doing… here?" he finally asked. "I mean, what's happened?"

For a mad, heartsick moment he wanted to tell him, wanted to explain it all and then Sirius could have been the prophet, and a far better one at that. "You surely know I couldn't tell you," he said instead, his voice rough. He shouldn't have even been speaking to the boy.

Sirius bit his lip and nodded, a little apprehensive, and the other man--the older man, he was now--stared hungrily at his mouth.

"It's my job," Remus settled on eventually. "You weren't meant to notice me."

The boy barked a happy laugh and seemed somehow to slide closer to him though his thigh stayed planted where Remus held it. "That's stupid," he asserted arrogantly.

"Honestly it's nothing to do with you, it's coincidence I had to come here now." He was babbling. He shut his mouth firmly and shook his head, in dismay at himself or in denial of Sirius' proximity.

He was grinning, and his own hand had moved to cover Remus' on his thigh. The convulsive grip relaxed, their fingers twined, and Remus found his hand sliding farther up that taut thigh under Sirius' gentle grip. Somewhat in disbelief, he sat back as calmly as he could, picked up his glass, and drank from it. "When you get back home," Sirius said, voice low as he pretended to examine the newspaper that was now spread abandoned on the table before them, "What are you going to tell _me_ about this?" 

"What?" Remus spluttered as their fingers, together, brushed against the soft bulge in Sirius' denims.

He peered up at the discomfited werewolf with an incorrigible little smirk. "Do you think I'll mind?" he mused. 

"You never change," Remus breathed. He couldn't have said if it was an observation or a command.

"Ah, I won't mind then?" Sirius disentangled himself and stood so quickly that Remus had to snatch his hand away as if it had been burned to stop the younger man from hauling it into view. Without another word, without even a backward glance, he bounced happily down the short corridor that led to the back entrance of the pub.

Remus gulped a heavy breath and downed his ale as quickly as he could, and then he got up and followed him into the darkness.

The night was muggy and the moon was dark, only the barest crescent showing, and the little backstreet was black and empty. He thought he was alone, but as he strolled away from the pub, Sirius was suddenly standing in a shadow right in front of him, face illuminated in the blackness by the red tip of the cigarette he held between his lips. His skin was flushed blotchy in the summer heat, and it made him look so young it hurt to think of it.

"Come here, Moony," he said roughly, pulling him close by his forearm. Remus found himself backed against a wall, against someone's back garden wall. The boy took the cigarette from between his own lips and brought it to Remus', like a puff for a man before a firing squad, and then Sirius was sinking to his knees and the dog-end was dropping from his fingers onto the cobbles.

Remus let his head fall back against the bricks for a moment, but he realised it would be a crime to take his eyes off that face, really, and he snapped his head down to stare at Sirius as he opened his flies. He shouldn't let this happen, not in a street (but that was hardly the issue) and not in this time, not with so much between them, not only so many years but so much of life. He simply shouldn't, but even as a small part of his mind repeated that mantra, he knew he would.

"How old are you?" the younger man asked, seemingly able to read his thoughts as always, and the strangeness of hearing that question from that mouth gave him pause. Sirius' fingers brushed his erection, just barely. The touch was teasing, not timid, and he twitched with need.

"Thirty-seven… eh, ish." In truth, he had spent so much time on missions like this that he was probably closer to forty now, and he didn't know how to explain that, and he didn't care to. He knew of course how old Sirius was, he should have been seventeen but he was eighteen for his mad mother had accidentally started him at school a year late. He had looked it as well, the finest specimen in their form all through those seven years. His pretty physique had been a sweet torture for the young Remus that was even now sneaking back into Gryffindor tower with his friends, and no doubt wondering when the older boy would return so that they could slink off together and find one last hideaway, for one last illicit schoolboy tryst.

Remus groaned aloud at the thought of enjoying him again tonight twenty years ago, checked himself because they were still in a not-private-at-all street and if he got caught doing this with a bloody _student_ \--! He wouldn't vanish into the Azkaban of the past, for Sirius was a year past the age of majority, but there would be no way to avoid an outcry which would endanger his mission, his lack-of-identity, even his ability to get back to his own time. It might just possibly be worth it.

"I've never been with anyone older," Sirius was saying, the fingers of one hand closing gently around Remus' shaft. The other hand shoved his shirttails up, petted the greying stripe of brown fur down his belly which hadn't been anywhere near so thick and dark the last time this Sirius had seen it on the older man's younger counterpart. Remus stared at those pretty hands: they were young and smooth, unmarked by hateful tattoos, but the nails were lacquered black in defiant muggle fashion like a Top-of-the-Pops balladeer, a strange omen of things to come. "You look so good," the boy murmured. "Delicious."

He pushed Remus' foreskin back, touched his pink tongue briefly to the the swollen tip, smiling when Remus gasped. His hands came to rest in dark hair, and he sighed, the only thought in his head that he hoped, when they were both dead, that _this_ was the Sirius he would find waiting on the western shore for him. This sweet young thing who'd never known the very worst of life, this lad who couldn't see thestrals and who imagined nothing worse than an angry old woman for his boggart, this was his true love, so much more so than the man that time would make of him.

Sirius was teasing his lips up and down his shaft now, barely touching, and Remus was startled to realise that he would take this anywhere, any time. If he hadn't been granted the skill and the duty to bend time, if Sirius really had been half his age, if they really had been a schoolboy and an old soldier, Remus would have happily forgot any decency he had ever had if it meant he could have got off with Sirius Black.

Those wicked lips fastened around the head of his prick, the long tease complete, and he stared down at Sirius' face, transmogrified by lust. His cheeks hollowed around Remus' flesh, his eyes were shaded, the pupils open and black like unshuttered windows, and he couldn't stop himself making sweet noises through his nose and around his mouthful.

After some minutes, Remus couldn't hold himself still any longer. He tightened his grip on Sirius' hair and held the boy immobile so that he could thrust into those lips. Sirius relaxed into the hold like he'd been waiting for it, and Remus fucked his mouth, slow and deep. Sirius gagged a little, not so conditioned to the sensation in this time, but he seemed to love it; he groaned and tried to push forward, ignoring the slight moisture that formed reflexively at the corners of his eyes. 

Remus was balanced on the edge of orgasm when they were interrupted.

The startling noise of the crowd inside the pub suddenly reached their ears, and a square of yellow light from the other side of a door threw strange long shadows across the black-on-black of the alley. Remus froze, and Sirius, wanton though he was, froze as well, and they stayed still and silent in the shadow of the garden wall until the group of witches passed them, giggling and chattering to themselves, with no idea what was transpiring in the darkness just outside their vision. It was where they had always lived and loved, in that darkness. Remus' heart was pounding impressively, and Sirius was grinning up at him with depraved amusement.

Their eyes locked, and Remus wanted to live forever in that shared glance, but he couldn't, so he just teased Sirius' mouth open again with a thumb so he could resume his needy thrusting. This dark alley and this lover, this hot night and the smell of their own forest drifting on the wind, this was the closest thing to a paradise Remus could imagine, and he tried to memorise everything about it. "Sirius," he whispered, again and again, moving faster now, "Sirius, oh…" He felt his balls tighten in the younger man's fingers, felt himself begin to fall, and then there was a long moment of agony or ecstasy or both, and all he could feel was the pulse of his flesh in Sirius' mouth.

He mumbled some words, but he had no idea what they might have been, and it was just as well, because it would have hurt him to reaffirm aloud his love for a dead man.

Sirius turned his head to spit upon the cobbles, an adolescent habit he'd been cured of years ago from Remus' perspective, and the sight was at once so familiar and so incongruous that Remus couldn't bear it. He shut his eyes for a moment before he remembered his resolve to stare at that beautiful face for as long as he could. He hauled the boy up off his knees by his hair and kissed him, fiercely, savouring the bitter taste of himself in Sirius' mouth.

"I knew you weren't going to leave me," Sirius asserted proudly when the kiss was over, his words an intimate whisper against the older man's lips.

Remus stared at his wet mouth, moved to slide a firm hand over the hardness that strained uncomfortably in Sirius' tight denims. "What?" he asked absently.

Sirius moved away from his touch, mystifying as always. Remus supposed he was saving his energies for the other, younger Remus who was waiting for him in the castle. "You wouldn't have done that if you were going to forget all about me after we finish school, now would you?" He smiled prettily and brought out another cigarette. "I knew you wouldn't leave."

"No," Remus breathed sadly, sagging against the wall behind him. He didn't want to say it, he wasn't supposed to say it, but he couldn't stop himself, cruel though it was. "In fact, you leave me. Twice."

He pouted. "Really? _That's_ the only thing I get to know about the future?" He thought for a long moment, regarding the werewolf with hunger and perhaps a touch of love. "I won't," Sirius finally said. "I won't if I can help it." 

Remus just reached out a hand and touched his jaw, his neck. "I'm out of time here," he said finally.

Sirius shrugged and lit his cigarette and said, "I'll see you around then," as he turned to walk off, and it nearly broke Remus' heart to watch him go.


End file.
